Through the Flames Comes Destiny's Child
by Onatah1
Summary: A Snape survival story, where our hero overcomes abuses in Azkaban, humiliation, and hatred, with lots of self loathing thrown in. Complete with Harry & Co., dark forces, devoted house elves, and a part Native American witch. Set post war? & post HBP.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Alas, Severus Snape is not mine; he belongs to J.K. Rowling, as do all other characters and wondrous things in the Harry Potter universe. There will be a few characters that are mine, but no profit is being made. They only want to play.

Through the Flames Comes Destiny's Child

Prologue

_A black storm swirled and pulsed, punctuated by red flashes of pain that lit up the darkness like crimsoned lightening. It battered the soft yellow beam of light that struggled to find a path through the chaos to the shelter deep in its midst - a shelter under siege and weakening with each scarlet flash._

_It was getting progressively harder to traverse the battleground of his mind, and at the same time easier to breach the barriers of the sanctuary that had been painstakingly erected and enforced for so many years. The sanctuary, once a fortress, now lay in ruins - the occlumency shields that guarded it shattered after the second month of imprisonment at Azkaban. _

_The light flickered once as it crossed the outer perimeter, where the shielding still offered a thin, almost translucent skin of protection. It stopped at this paper-like cover, glowing brighter and brighter, until it was as bright as the noonday sun. Slowly, it moved sideways until it made contact, transferring its energy along the frail wall, increasing the protection it afforded the deep recess of his mind._

_Once seemingly satisfied, the light, now a soft yellow once again, moved deeper into the sanctuary, then dove down, down through layers of fog and misty vapors into the catacombs of his mind. It followed a passageway to the left, until it came upon an open room. This vault had once contained memories, some placed here because they were of happy times; most because they were of the Order or pertained to the man's role as a spy; all were now broken and scattered, drifting along through the fog._

_Continuing on, the light traveled through the maze of passages, twisting and turning until at last it came upon a clearing. In this, the deepest part of his mind, she found him. Huddled against an outcropping of rocks and facing a sea that foamed and surged, he sat with bowed head, clutching himself into a tight ball. He looked as he did the day he was captured - long greasy hair, sallow skin, dark stubble on his chin. His features here, however, were much more distorted than in real life - the nose an exaggerated version of the original, the paleness of skin and greasy hair magnified. She wondered if he knew what he truly looked like now - after months of internment at Azkaban. She hoped not, for his sake._

_She floated before him, bobbing gently up and down in front of him over and over until finally he focused on the image before him and frowned, watching it grow and transform until a red-haired angel took shape before him. Her image glowed briefly before tamping down to reveal her features, and she stepped forward and knelt in front of him._

"_Severus" the image said softly._

_He looked at her blankly for a moment, before averting his eyes downward, trembling slightly._

"_Severus" she prompted again, "Look at me. Do you know who I am?"_

_A shudder ran through him and he jerked his head slightly in a nod._

"_Who am I?"_

"_Death?" he whispered hoarsely, hopefully._

"_No, Severus", she said sadly, noting how he sagged upon hearing the negative. "I was here yesterday - do you remember? I have visited as often as I could . . . please . . ."_

"_Why?" He interrupted with a childlike note._

"_Because, Severus, I have been chosen to be your guardian - I requested it and fought for the right to be your guide through the fire. You don't deserve this punishment and we are doing everything in our power to help you through. This wasn't supposed to happen. You, Severus, who have done and has given up so much for the light. It is an honor for me . . . , but oh, Severus, you must fight! You must! Remember me Severus . . . remember me who was your friend. Remember me, and my son who you have saved countless times! He will need you again, Severus. Oh, I would that he would not, but he is going to be tempted by the dark path. He needs you Severus. We need you!"_

_Severus looked at her, then threw the distorted self-image of his head back and laughed a deep rich sound, although slightly hysterical. When he looked at her again, he scowled._

"_Lily. Ghostly invader or figment of my imagination? No matter. I can't help Potter. I can't help myself. I hurt, Lily. I hurt all the time." There was much anguish in his voice as he continued. "Please, let me be Kissed. They feed, and I have hope, but then they stop. I want it to end, Lily. Please make it end."_

"_It won't be for much longer, Severus. Please believe that. Soon, you will be away from this place, away from the dementors. Your body will heal, Severus, the pain will be gone. And you are helping, by remembering. That is your task right now, Severus. Do not let them break your mind". _

_He nodded absently, but his eyes had the look of resignation - of one forsaken. If Lily noticed, she did not say, and she babbled on of inconsequential things - his elves, his mother's manor, some witch from America - nothing that mattered. He was a prisoner and would be until the day they decided to release his soul to the dementors. _

_Lily watched him as she rattled on, making conversation she hoped would stimulate his wits and draw his attention. If she was making headway, she could not tell. After a period of time, he cocked his head to one side, staring blankly over her left shoulder as if searching or listening to something. She knew what it was; had been expecting and dreading it. Abruptly, he stiffened and looked around wildly at her._

"_You must leave", he said, his voice quailing. "Now. The guards . . . they are coming for me."_

_He was panicking, his breathing coming in short gasps._

_Lily moved closer to him and wrapped him in a strong embrace._

"_I will not leave you. You will not be alone."_

"_No . . . you don't understand. They . . . they do things to me . . . horrible things." He was trembling violently. "I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!"_

"_But I have been, in the past", she replied softly._

"_No . . . no . . . he was pushing against her furtively, but she was holding him tightly, and he was weak._

"_I will not leave you", she repeated. "You are not alone." She started to glow again, enveloping him in her light. "Feel me. Feel my warmth. Concentrate on the warmth, Severus. Hold on to it, as tight as you can."_

_Around them, the lightning flashed blood-red, like whip marks. The coldness of dark magic lashed against them and he clung to the small comforting warmth as curse after curse ripped through his body. An eternity later, his body writhing under hers, the screams began._

_xxxxxx _

Rough hands escorted prisoner #586 back to cell E-19 and dumped him unceremoniously on a bare cot. E-section was buried deep within the fortress of Azkaban, offering trickling walls, a cold, dank floor, icy air, and absolutely no light. The prisoner curled in a fetal position, clutching at the tattered remnants of a striped prison gown with one bloody hand and shivered violently. He fought the urge to retch, and fought to stay conscious. He did not fight the pain. He had learnt better, a long time ago, although this pain was close to unbearable. His uncles would have been impressed.

Clasping his knees tightly against his chest, the man fought to control his breathing, and struggled to clear his mind. It was getting harder and harder these days to retreat to the safety of his waking dreamscape, the sanctuary in his mind, that he had created so long ago. It was the only place he had left . . . the only place in which to hide from the horrors of his reality. He was on the verge of going mad, he knew. And even though his pride had been stripped away, along with his dignity and his sense of self on the first night in this place of hell, he could not help but be reluctant to give up his last remaining prize - his mind.

And so he struggled, pushing forward to that place within himself, towards a surprising feeling of warmth tickling deep in his mind. He was so weary, so tired of this existence, but something compelled him to go on, until he reached the plateau, his aching body slowly relaxing in this deeply meditative state.

_Mixed shades of oranges and greens pulsed and swirled all around him as he stood facing a glittering blue sea. The sky above was dark and stormy, but the surface water sparkled and twinkled, and sent a comforting feeling of warmth through him. Just like Albus's eyes had always done; his clear blue eyes looked out of the sea at him._

"_He is very proud of you, you know." _

_Of course. She was still here. He had not consciously drawn her in his dreamscape, but perhaps his subconscious? Needing a . . . what? Ally? Friend? No, she was one of his victims, and could never be that. Besides which, she was dead, because of him. Perhaps she was here to make sure his suffering was complete. As much as he thought of this place as hell, and the torments and abuse of his body as just punishment, he could not but shudder at the thought of death, when he would enter the real Inferno. He had never begged for mercy, for he had not shown any and did not deserve it, but he had wished for death many times. At times he thought he really was in Hell - the humiliation and abasement of his punishments seemed worthy of Hades, but surely there would be no respite there, however brief. Death would be much worse, he knew, but at least there his tormentors would have the right. _

"_Severus, listen to me". The Lily-image was standing beside him at the edge of the water. "We do not have much time. You need to concentrate. You need to go deeper . . ."_

"_Why can't you leave me be?"_

"_Because you are needed, Severus. It is not over, as everyone believes. You must be strong, and fight against the madness - until your trial, when you will be freed. And then, once freed, you must help Harry"._

"_Haven't I done enough?" He was so weary. He had given all that he had . . . all that was left was an aching emptiness. Even his identity was gone - he had been reduced to a number - #586. And yet he knew it had not been enough. He owed penance to his victims. And he owed still more for Albus._

"_There will be light for you, Severus, I promise you. I have seen it. There is one who is coming, who will see your goodness, and you will be happy, someday"._

_He looked at her oddly for a moment, then blinked, as if waking from a dream._

"_Lily?"_

"_Yes, Severus?"_

"_I'm going mad", he choked. "Or I am mad."_

"_You aren't yet, Severus", Lily soothed. "But you must go deeper, where it is safer from attack." She guided him away from the water to a series of caves at the foot of a hill, where they followed a tunnel to a small, narrow space. Here, she bid him sit on the floor in the cramped opening, and he squeezed into it, drawing his knees up to fit in the tight space. _

_Lily readied herself to provide him a protective shield, and as she began to glow, he looked at her, eyes glistening with unshed tears._

"_The dementors will be here to feed soon."_

"_I know, Severus."_

"_Why do they still feed on me, Lily? I am empty. Is it to torment me? They come so close . . . so close to the Kiss. I fear it, but yet I yearn for it . . . an escape from Hell. I am a coward . . ."_

"_You are no such thing, Severus. You mustn't think like that. You will get through this . . ."_

"_I can't do this anymore. I can't . . .", tears rolled down his cheeks as he sobbed quietly, burying his face in his arms._

"_You are stronger than you know, Severus. And I will help you. I cannot stay with you through it, but I can help protect you from it", Lily said with determination. She was glowing brightly now, her features lost in the brilliant light._

"_Go. They are coming."_

_He could see her dimly through the shield she had created, growing smaller until vanishing completely. _

"_Hang on, Severus", her voice floated back to him. "Severus . . ., Severus."_

_And as the prisoner in cell E-19 lay helpless and numb with cold and fear as the dementors approached, there was at least one memory that lay within, shielded by an angel's protection. Severus . . . My name is Severus . . ._

_xxxxx _

Gold and silver specks glimmered in the air, hanging suspended like frozen raindrops against a background of feathery whiteness. A lone presence waited by a golden fountain, gazing serenely into its rippling surface. Moments later a soft yellow glow materialized alongside, transforming into a red-haired angel who threw her arms around the other, clinging to him fiercely.

"Shh", he whispered, caressing her back, kissing the top of her head. "I've got you now. It's O.K."

"Oh, James", she sobbed. "I'm so afraid for him. So very afraid."

He hugged her tightly and was silent a moment. Then, "the vision? Will it come true?"

"If he survives this . . . then yes, it will come true. But . . . he is dying. Physically. He hasn't much time."

"Then I shall greet him, and present to him my gift. He will know at last my regret for misdeeds done him while living, and perhaps forgive me."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You were successful then?"

"I was. We have her. She is confused, and disoriented, but Albus is with her. She is part of his penance, for Severus."

"I am glad. But I would rather he live. He deserves happiness on earth first. I called on his honor today. On duty. I wish he could believe he is valued more for himself than for his usefulness."

"But you know he will respond more to that than anything. He will pull through, however narrowly. He has never let us down yet when it comes to duty."

xxxxx

A/N James and Lily will not be prominent in this story. Lily may appear a few more times in Snape's dreams, as a way of obtaining his viewpoint; both will appear much later for a kind of intervention, but that is all.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Alas, Severus Snape is not mine; he belongs to J.K. Rowling, as do all other characters and wondrous things in the Harry Potter universe. There will be a few characters that are mine, but no profit is being made. They only want to play.

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Through the Flames Comes Destiny's Child

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Chapter 2: Snape's Trial Part 1

Nobody had ever claimed that the Minister of Magic was a wise and knowing man. Indeed, many witches and wizards shook their heads in dismay over several of Minister Scrimgeour's new policies enacted both before and after the war. What he was, however, was something that everyone agreed upon and made the majority of the wizarding world nod approvingly.

He was a man of action.

And take action he did. And, even though there were shouts of resistance and mumblings of unrest when his most controversial of plans were introduced, he had quite the knack of turning the people around to his way of thinking.

Mostly, that had to do with his assistant, Percy. Or as he liked to call him when in private with his more prestigious colleagues, Pooch.

For, as annoying as his lapdog of an assistant could be, he could write the most persuading speeches Rufus had ever seen. Pooch could write a speech persuading wizardkind of the need to shave their heads if need be.

Take, for instance the Dementors. Now, after they had abandoned Azkaban and joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, there could not be found anyone who would agree to forming an alliance with them ever again.

On the other hand, no one wanted the responsibility for executing convicted Death Eaters. No one wanted to get their hands quite that dirty. Execution was a most unpleasant idea to most wizards, which is why the Dementor's Kiss had been so popular - it let them wash their hands of it. After all, they were not really taking a life, no, not really at all. But the Dementors had turned on them and had run amok, causing fear and panic that was hard to overcome.

And so, not surprisingly, there had been an uproar when Rufus had stated his intent to invite Dementors back to Azkaban. But after delivering a stunning speech (written by Pooch) pointing out all of the obvious advantages and the stellar track record (all those years and only two mistakes - minor mistakes really) the crowd had erupted in enthusiastic applause to show their support.

The public was so deliciously gullible at times.

There were only a handful of witches and wizards that Rufus was keeping a wary eye on, but they had nowhere near the power or prestige to cause any problems.

And Harry Potter apparently had his own demons to battle after the war and was only now beginning to appear in public, albeit very rarely.

Thank goodness Albus Dumbledore was dead.

The old Headmaster would never have let him get away with half of what he had achieved. Rufus now ruled with an iron fist and he relished the feel of it. Restrictions had been placed on any non-human creature, be they werewolf, vampire, troll, or fairy. There was a file on EVERYONE over the age of sixteen. Assessment tests were given to find and record any unique power or abilities. Even squibs were kept close watch over. Organized gatherings were banned unless special permission from the ministry was obtained. (Rufus had declared the so-called Order of the Phoenix a terrorist group, hell-bent on inciting revolt and causing mayhem; suspected members were being watched carefully.)

All done in the name of protecting the public from any future threat. All done with the public's approval.

Dumbledore was probably moaning in his tomb.

Especially if he knew what was to take place tomorrow.

Rufus grinned to himself and downed the last of his last firewhiskey. Ah, tomorrow. The last Death Eater would go on trial. The other Death Eater trials that had gone before had of course been well attended - the trials themselves had doubled as a kind of rally and had proved effective in getting many of his restrictions passed. Always the message was 'Never Again, Never Again' and of course support for anything he had proposed.

The trial tomorrow promised to be the most watched event in the history of wizardkind. It was predicted to far exceed the viewers of the 1982 Quidditch World Cup. It would be aired over the wireless to thousands of viewers to watch in the comfort of their homes. Tomorrow, the most dangerous, the most vile Death Eater would finally get what he deserved.

Tomorrow, Severus Snape would stand trial.

Tomorrow, Severus Snape would be Kissed.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was hard to believe it was a courtroom. It looked and felt like a circus. The seating area had been enlarged to provide for the largest live audience ever recorded in the history of the Wizengamot. Witches and Wizards had started arriving the night before, chilled to the bone in the January night air, just to get in line to be sure of a good seat. Boys could be seen in the stands walking up and down the aisles selling bubble-gum flavored popcorn and mugs of butterbear. The place soon filled up and still they poured in, filling up the aisles and squeezing into every nook and cranny they could find.

Those at home crowded around their wireless cubes. Some of the more party-minded had enlarged their cubes and attached them to a wall or suspended them in their ballrooms, inviting their neighbors and friends over to watch. Everywhere was a celebratory mood.

With possibly the exception of one house where friends had indeed gathered, but where the atmosphere was strained and uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you want to watch this, Harry?" asked Ginny Weasley nervously, squeezing his shoulder slightly as she came to stand behind him.

"Yeah, Harry - are you sure about this mate? I mean, you did your part, right? You sent the letter like Dum . . . er, like he asked. I mean, he sent that time-delayed note explaining what really happened and that he wanted you to let everyone know the truth about the git, right?" Ron Weasley sat back on the couch, folding his arms in front of him and scowled at the memory. The appearance of the letter had caused a spectacular explosion within the Order, the least of which was Harry's own eruption of rage. They had been falling apart, prior to the letter; the aftermath left them further divided until the viewing of the phial several days later. All doubts of Snape's loyalties vanished after that, with the exception of Harry's dark glare and Moody's "once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater ", but no one really listened to Moody anymore.

It had been a brilliant strategy, Ron had thought, this sacrificing of the white knight so that the pawn could slip through unnoticed. It should have marked Snape's welcome back into the fold. Except that his fellow comrades had failed to protect him. They had left the pawn out in the cold, to get captured by the black rook.

Mostly because of Harry's growing resentment and most of the Order's Gryffindorish view of the world in black and white. Snape was, after all, still a murderer.

Harry's restlessness brought Ron out of his musings and back to the situation at hand. Noting his friend's dark look, he continued, in hopes of soothing Harry's temper and lightening his mood. "So you hired a defense wizard for him and sent him the letter and the phial. It's more than the slimy git would have done for you, you know."

Harry squirmed a little uneasily in his chair. Snape had killed Dumbledore because Dumbledore had told him to. If Dumbledore had told Snape to defend him, Harry Potter, Harry had no doubt that the bastard would have followed his instructions to the letter.

Which was exactly what he, Harry Potter was doing. Following Dumbledore's instructions to the letter. It didn't mean he had to go out of his way for the git now, did it? He had done all he could. He had secured a defense wizard, and had passed on the letter and phial. If they still convicted Snape regardless of the evidence, well . . .too bad, right? It wasn't as if Snape didn't deserve it.

He felt the familiar anger rising up inside him. He hated Snape. He hated that Dumbledore had put him in a position of having to defend Snape. But Harry had followed Dumbledore's orders to exonerate Snape because he had given his word to do as he asked. Dumbledore had trusted him to do so.

Harry hated it that Snape had done the same. That Dumbledore had trusted him to do the unthinkable. Why? The question still burned within him.

Sitting a bit apart from the others, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks talked quietly to themselves, watching with growing concern the restless crowd awaiting the start of the trial. It was 11:50. The trial was scheduled to start in ten minutes.

At exactly 12:00 noon, and as the great clock in the courtroom struck the final gong, a side door opened and in swept the Minister of Magic, his long gray mane billowing out behind him in perfect unison with his deep purple robes. The members of the Wizengamot followed close at his heal. Rufus Scrimgeour swept majestically up the aisle to the platform where he and the other judges could overlook the assembled crowd and look down upon the accused.

The crowd had risen as soon as Scrimgeour had entered and as the Wizengamot reached their seats they all sat as one.

Rufus banged a large gavel on the podium before him. "My fellow citizens, members of the Wizengamot; today we make history once again", he said, his sonorus enhanced voice cutting effortlessly across the crowd. "Today, under my leadership, we bring closure to a terrible era and usher in a new, enlightened era. Today, we rid ourselves of the last vestiges of evil." Scrimgeour paused, looking pompously around at the eager faces. "Today, my friends, we shall see the last Death Eater Kissed." A roar of approval swept through the crowd and applause swelled to a crescendo before dying out to Scrimgeour's raised arms calling for silence. A heartbeat of silent anticipation passed and then Scrimgeour shouted "Bring in the prisoner", his mouth twisting into a feral grin.

Another door opened and a great chill swept through the room. The crowd shivered as Snape was ushered into the courtroom flanked by two dementors.

Sitting with Tonks, Remus gasped as he took in his former classmate's appearance.

Dressed in a dirty gray and white striped gown, Snape walked slowly taking short jerky steps as if he were hobbled. Head bowed, and shoulders slumped, he stumbled twice on his journey to the middle of the courtroom where a lone chair sat waiting, chains hanging from the arms and piled around the legs. He was shivering almost uncontrollably and every now and then a great shudder ran through his body as the dementors kept him upright.

His hair was a matted and tangled mess, part of it hanging limply halfway down his back, the rest falling forward hiding his face. The crowd hissed in disgust as the accused Death Eater passed by. Wrinkled noses and heads turning away in revulsion told that Snape had not been allowed or given a bath in quite some time.

But it was the translucent skin hanging on a wasted figure that shocked Remus the most. Skeletal arms and legs peeked out of the threadbare and tattered prisoner's gown. If not for the dirt and the grime he could have been a ghost.

The camera suddenly changed angles, giving viewers a close-up shot of the prisoner. Remus's hand flew up to his mouth to stifle a cry of dismay; Tonks and even Harry gasped at the sight. Hermione, standing behind Tonks and Remus, buried her face in her hands and cried silently.

Snape's eyes. Eyes that were once so dark and penetrating were now blank orbs that seemed hideously large on a shrunken face.

Eyes that had once flashed with vengeance.

Now lifeless eyes.

Dead eyes.

Harry, feeling an odd sense of something he didn't want to feel concerning Snape, rallied himself. He thought of Sirius, wrongly accused and his time spent in the hellhole of Azkaban, and his temper rose.

"It's only been a little over a year since he was captured at the final battle", Harry sneered. "And, he spent 3 weeks at St. Mungo's and then a month in a cell in the Ministry. Less than 12 months in Azkaban. Sirius spent 12 _years_ and he didn't crumble like_ that_.", he said, ignoring Hermione's tear-streaked face. Snape was weak. Snape was pathetic. Harry felt better.

"You can't compare Snape with Sirius", Tonks replied slowly. "Sirius was an animagus - he could get a reprieve from the Dementors when he shifted into his animagus form. Snape didn't have that. Plus, things are different now . . . the Dementors have free rein to feed every day now - so long as they don't completely Kiss the inmates - although that has happened a few times", Tonks ended in a whisper, hanging her head.

Now-a-days, she was almost ashamed to be an auror.

She knew that Dementors weren't the only horrors at Azkaban. She had heard some of the others talking about the guards at Azkaban. Stories of how they entertained themselves. Stories involving abuse and torture. Physical . . .and . . . sexual. She shuddered, remembering the envy some of the others had expressed.

And she knew lots of those stories had involved Snape. But she had turned away - she hadn't wanted to know. Now, sitting here in comfort with her friends, she felt numb with guilt, knowing what this man had gone through because he had done the right thing. He was a better soldier than she could ever hope to be.

"We should be there", Hermione said softly, shakily. She looked over at Harry and her eyes grew hard. "Why aren't we there, Harry? He destroyed two horcruxes for you; he saved Ginny and Neville, you know he did. He was on our side."

Harry glared at her. "He killed Dumbledore. I did what I was asked to do; what I promised." He shrugged his shoulders a little and then said sullenly, "what more do you want from me, Hermione?"

"What more would Professor Dumbledore have expected of you, Harry", she said sadly, to which Harry narrowed his eyes and looked away with a mule-stubborn expression.

The sound of rattling chains brought them back to the image in front of them and they watched as Snape was bound to the chair. The Dementors seemed to press in on either side, hovering for a full minute before gliding out of the courtroom, leaving Snape convulsing with fits of spasms. His body strained against the bindings as it fought to compensate for the lack of freedom to move about, sending waves of undulating pain inward instead. Snape's head suddenly snapped backward, and a low keening issued from a hoarse throat. It was as if he were suffering a cruciatus.

Remus swore.

Behind them, tears glistened on the cheeks of a man in a portrait. Eyes that normally twinkled behind half-moon spectacles now flashed briefly with an anger that would have made each and every one of the small group of friends lower their heads in shame had they noticed.

No one did.

And no one noticed when the old Headmaster walked out of his portrait with a steely look of determination in his clear blue eyes.

Rufus Scrimgeour looked with satisfaction on the broken man before him. The last of the convulsions had finally died out and the Death Eater was left slumped forward in the chair, taking great raspy breaths.

Everything was going perfectly.

Rufus stood up. "Severus Snape, you have been accused of the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, of committing heinous atrocities against wizard-kind and muggles, and of being a Death Eater. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Rufus grinned maliciously as another tremor rippled through the dark wizard before him. The aftershock was timed perfectly, as was all his plans. "We'll take that as a no" he drawled, laughing as others in the crowd burst into laughter along with him.

"Severus Snape, you are hereby declared guilty on all counts and sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss which will be given sh . . .who are you?" Rufus roared as a wiry, little man made his way down to stand next to Snape, only to take a few quick steps away from the horrible stench emanating from the prisoner.

The little man looked around nervously and gulped, mopping his brow. His bald head glistened with sweat. A band of black hair crowned the back of his head like a horseshoe. Putting the sodden handkerchief away in a pocket of black robes that were a tad too long, he pulled out a tattered letter and phial which he almost dropped.

"My name is Hector Sizemore" he squeaked. "I'm here to represent the accused.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Alas, Severus Snape is not mine; he belongs to J.K. Rowling, as do all other characters and wondrous things in the Harry Potter universe. There will be a few characters that are mine, but no profit is being made. They only want to play.

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Through the Flames Comes Destiny's Child

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Chapter 3: Snape's Trial Part 2

"My name is Hector Sizemore" he squeaked. "I'm here to represent the accused. I ha . . ."

"HOW DARE YOU MOCK THIS COURT" Rufus's face and neck had gone a mottled red with suppressed rage. How dare anyone interrupt his plans? His perfect play? For that's what it was - a carefully scripted play that he had created himself; had rehearsed in his mind until it was perfection.

That the sneaky bastard before him was innocent . . .well of course not innocent . . .but that he had been following Dumbledore's orders meant nothing to Scrimgeour. Oh, yes, he knew. Dumbledore had made sure of it, once the war was over. It changed nothing. The scum was still scum. A Death Eater and a murderer. And the old fool Albus was not here to protect him.

"Tell me, are you working alone, or did someone pay you to disrupt this court?" Rufus asked the quivering man.

For a minute Hector looked like he might just vanish into the floor, but then he swallowed audibly and squared his shoulders. Lifting his chin bravely (_but I'm a Ravenclaw not a Gryffindor_, he thought to himself) Hector replied, "I was hired by Harry Potter to defend the accused. I have irrefutable evidence that this man is innocent."

The crowd gasped at the mention of the Boy-Who-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

If there was anyone who could turn the crowd against Rufus, it was the blasted Boy-Who-Refused-To-Go-Away.

"I see", Scrimgeour said in a low dangerous tone. "And just where is Harry Potter? If he is indeed, however unlikely it seems, offering testimony to defend this prisoner, then he will need to be questioned by this court." _And I can discredit him based on his unstable emotions_.

Sizemore's shoulders slumped for a moment. "Harry Potter could not be here today, Minister. He had a prior engagement that could not be rescheduled." Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded lame. It did not bode well that the only person offering testimony in the defense refused to even attend the trial much less speak on the defendant's behalf.

Hector spared a glance at the defendant, noting that Snape had not moved a muscle save for some remaining tremors that caused a slight ripple throughout his body from time to time. He had given no indication that he even knew what was going on around him.

This close up, Snape looked like a breathing corpse. The memory came, unbidden, of this same man 19 years ago. The memory had etched itself in the then 13 year-old Hector's mind, in the way all traumatizing events did. He could still see with vivid clarity the green and red flashes of the wandfights; could still smell the stench of burning flesh and hear the screams of the villagers as they were tortured senselessly.

But he, his 8-year old sister, and his parents had gotten lucky. His parents, both muggles who had brought Hector to the village to visit some friends over summer break, were sitting targets for the Death Eaters. When a tall, dark-haired one had swept down on them, wand raised and shouting the killing curse, they had gripped each other in fear. But the curse had missed, killing another Death Eater who had come up behind them, unseen.

Years later, Hector could barely remember the events that followed. He had been dimly aware of the menacing man herding them into a burnt-out building where a massive fireplace still stood eerily blazing. Their captor had discarded his mask and Hector had found himself staring transfixed at a fairly young sallow-skinned, hook nosed man as he fumbled in a pocket searching for something. He remembered the man had thrown something into the fire, had shouted a name he couldn't remember, and then had shoved each of them into the fire.

They had all thought that they were going to be burnt alive, so it came as quite a surprise when they had found themselves in an apothecary's shop in Diagon Alley. How they got from there to the Auror's Headquarters, Hector could not remember. What he did remember, was the wooden-legged man with the spinning eyeball dismissing their story of being saved by a Death Eater as purely hallucinatory; they had obviously been in shock and somehow had managed to escape on their own. Hector must have somehow known about floo powder and been able to use it to get them to safety. And none too soon, by wooden-leg man's account. Aurors had arrived shortly after their departure, to find a Death Eater near the fireplace where they had flooed from. He had gotten away, but one of the aurors was confident that his hex had found its target, a fact confirmed by the large amount of blood that trailed from the building.

Hector's parents had believed this tale of the events, and so did Hector after awhile. It was easier than the confusion of why a Death Eater had saved them. And it had made Hector a hero, for a short time, anyway.

But now, looking at Snape, Hector knew the truth. This man had saved his life and the lives of his parents and sister. Whether or not he was a spy at that time didn't matter to Hector. He had a debt to repay.

Walking the short distance to stand in front of the Minister, Hector turned to face the crowd. "This man has saved countless lives, working as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, a secret organization whose mission it was to counteract the attacks of the Death Eaters and to defeat He-Who-Still-Must-Not-Be-Named. I have here written evidence of his fight for the Light, and a testimony by Albus Dumbledore who, by the way, was NOT murdered by this man, but who sacrificed himself for the good of the cause, much the same as this man has sacrificed most of his life."

Damn, he hadn't known he had it in him. But it felt so good, to finally take a stand and do what he knew was right. Hector felt a warmth flow through him and knew his parents would be proud.

The crowd had erupted into a melee of such proportions that it took Rufus ten whole minutes and most of his vocal cords to get them under control again. Those who sat nearby would later remark on the many shades of red that colored his face and neck. After the umpteenth roar and a furious searing glare, the crowd finally quieted enough for Rufus to be heard.

"Let me get this straight" Rufus said in a patronizing tone. He had to be very careful now. He had no delusions that the crowd would ditch him in a minute if he was seen to be against Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore. Election Day was coming within the year, and up till now it was still his for the taking. This trial was to be his campaign's glorious trophy. Yes, he must be very careful indeed.

Deftly forcing his voice into a tone of puzzlement, he continued. "You say you have been hired by Harry Potter to defend this known Death Eater. As I recall, Harry Potter was an eyewitness to the murder, that he in fact saw this Death Eater kill Albus Dumbledore in cold blood. His testimony is already on record for the prosecution. You must excuse me if I seem a bit confused by your statement, Mr. Sizemore".

"Of course, Minister. That was before he knew of their plan. Harry Potter, that is. Before Harry knew of the plan between Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape, he thought, Harry did, that Professor Snape had indeed killed Headmaster Dumbledore, but learned later that he, Headmaster Dumbledore had asked Professor Snape to kill him in order to prove his loyalty to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and to save two students, namely Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

Sizemore gulped for air; that hadn't come out like it should have. Damn, but Scrimgeour intimidated the hell out of him. He glanced back at Snape and drew strength from a man who had to have had nerves of steel to do what he did, knowing that this would be his only reward. _I need to get a grip_, he thought to himself. _I won't let it end this way._ _This man deserves better than this._ He thought of all those in the Order, who now knew the truth but still would not come forth to support this man, and his anger flared.

"Harry Potter has officially rescinded is previous testimony. I believe, Minister, that this letter and memory phial will explain everything adequately", Hector said in a confident tone.

Rufus nodded stiffly. He could not with good cause refuse the evidence. He would just have to wait and see how he could manipulate the results to his benefit.

Hector pulled open the letter and cleared his throat. This letter is dated 1st, October, 1998. It is addressed to Harry Potter and reads as follows:

My dear Harry,

If you are reading this, then certain things have come to pass as I knew they must, and I must inform you of the truth of certain matters. As I am dead, and cannot do so in person, I would like to first say that I have loved you as a grandfather loves his grandson, irrevocably and unconditionally, no matter what you have done or will do in the future. Harry, please remember the power of love. It is the greatest source of power in the universe, and can overcome anything that hatred throws in its path.

Secondly, Harry, is that you must learn to trust Professor Snape. I realize this statement will cause an outrage, because you may well believe that Professor Snape was the one who murdered me. The truth, Harry is that I was dying anyway from the curse on Salazar's ring. One is not often fortunate enough to get to choose between Destiny and Fate, but I chose Fate and in so doing ensured Professor Snape's Destiny. You must overcome your hatred of him, Harry, if you have any hope at all of defeating Tom. You see, Harry, Professor Snape killed me because I ordered him to do it. At least I trust him to do so. Trust, Harry, is almost as powerful as love and can bring about the most extraordinary results when placed in deserving hands. And Professor Snape has and always will be deserving of my trust. I love him like a son, but, as he believes himself to be undeserving of that particular emotion, has instead accepted my trust, and I know that he would rather die than to let me down.

Which, of course, is what would have happened if he had had his way. He made an Unbreakable Vow with Narcissa in an effort to protect Draco and also to prove his loyalty to Tom since he was under suspicion at all times of being a traitor. Killing me will put him in good standing within the Inner Circle once again, although he protested vehemently. He does not see the importance of his own role, but he is as vital to our success as are you, Harry.

Professor Snape has risked everything to fight for the Light, and now his future lies in your hands. I trust your skills in Occlumency to keep his true loyalties secret as so many lives depend on it. I also am going to entrust you with clearing his name when this war is over. I am the only one, besides you now, who knows the truth. The memory phial is mine and contains two separate memories - one when Severus came to me to tell me of the Unbreakable Vow he had made and our subsequent discussion, and another memory from later in the year when he came to me arguing against going through with what we had planned. Make sure the Wizengamot see these - they will be able to vouch that they are indeed real. I trust you to follow my orders in this matter.

And now, Harry, I must go. Do not mourn me as I am off to the next grand adventure, and have been looking most forward to it.

Take care Harry, and remember what I told you about Love.

Yours Always,

Albus

In a room filled with several hundred people, the ensuing silence was deafening. But then, a low drone grew into an earsplitting rumble as several hundred people all started talking at once.

Above it all, a familiar roar and the banging of a gavel quieted the audience.

The new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement came forward, followed by two aurors to examine the letter and the phials. After several minutes and much wand waving, the evidence was declared authentic.

Rufus glared darkly at Hector, but before he could say anything, the balding man had transfigured a box into a table and pulled out a miniature pensive from a hidden coat pocket. Tapping his wand once on the tiny object produced the original sized version which he placed on the table.

The crowd held its collective breath as Hector emptied the first phial into the pensive. The wand played over the surface again as Hector muttered the spell for the memory to rise out of the pensive and play like a hologram for all to see.

The memory began in the dungeons of Hogwarts. An efficient work area had been set up in the shape of a U. Five steaming cauldrons sat in a row on one side, each one burping identical iridescent bubbles. Three more sat opposite these, apparently simmering. At the end were two more cauldrons, one of which was bronze, the other copper. In the middle was Snape, who glided from one cauldron to another, checking and stirring before gliding over to another table to chop a bluish leafed plant into perfect half-inch squares.

Albus Dumbledore stood unobtrusively by the door, a slight smile playing about his lips as he watched the other wizard. Only when Snape turned around to add the cut-up plant to the copper cauldron did the younger wizard notice his audience. Frowning slightly, he acknowledged the Headmaster with a slight nod before once more concentrating on the potions at hand. Several more minutes of stirring and adding three more ingredients to the bronze cauldron passed before he lowered the flames and set both cauldrons to simmer.

"My apologies, Headmaster", said Snape as he made his way over to the older wizard. "I could not leave the Blood-Replenishing Potion at that stage. It will be another 2 hours and 13 minutes before needing my attention again."

"Nonsense, my dear boy. It is always a privilege to watch you brew. I fear I shall never tire of it", the Headmaster said with a warm smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "It is I who should apologize for disrupting your work. You seem to have a lot going on at the moment", he said, glancing at the many simmering cauldrons.

"Just trying to get ahead a little on stocking the supplies for the infirmary".

"But I thought Madam Pomfrey said all her stocks were filled already. She made the comment that this is the earliest she has ever been ready for the new school year."

"That is true", Snape replied in his deep baritone, looking away from the headmaster. "However, I thought it best if we perhaps stockpile a few of the more vital potions - the ones that can be prepared ahead of time anyway. I am still experimenting with ways to preserve the more time-sensitive potions. I believe that would have a huge positive impact for our infirmary, as well as St. Mungo's. Especially now during the war, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, of course", murmured Dumbledore. "But why are you stockpiling potions? You are still our Potions Master even though you will be teaching Defense this year. I have made that clear to Professor Slughorn. While I am aware he is quite capable, I much prefer you to do our brewing if needed. He knows that you will still be using your lab."

Snape fidgeted a little before swallowing hard and replying with downcast eyes. "I just thought it might be a good idea . . . if things start to escalate . . .the Dark Lord . . .I just want to be prepared in case I am busy with 'other' duties."

Albus looked intently at his professor for a minute before nodding. "That is wise. Although, even though I said I would prefer you over Horace, I do understand that you have much on your plate. Your brewing has always seemed a calming retreat for you, but if it becomes too much, surely Horace is capable of brewing anything we need?"

Severus looked up at the Headmaster and met his eyes for the first time. "He has never brewed Wolfsbane. He is competent for most brews you will require, but I do not think he is capable of brewing Wolfsbane for Lupin. I wanted to speak with you about this. I believe either Granger or Zabini could be competent enough to handle the Wolfsbane if taught privately and given time to practice regularly. I believe both would be open to the idea of learning. I would like to teach them, with your permission."

"I do not see any reason why they could not, as long as they were willing, which I suspect both would be. Especially Miss Granger, knowing who the potion is for. But I trust this is a contingency only - that you plan to continue brewing the potion." The headmaster spoke softly, with a touch of a gentle reprimand in his voice. "You know how much Remus needs it."

Snape took a deep breath and nodded almost imperceptibly. "It is only a precaution - you know my position - many within the Inner Circle do not trust me. The Dark Lord does at the moment, but that can change with the wind. I just would like to be prepared in case something should happen to me." He frowned then and looked away, pursing his lips as if he had said too much.

Albus studied the man before him, blue eyes seeking the black depths of the other, but Snape avoided eye contact.

"Severus", Albus began tentatively. "What has happened?"

"Nothing"

"Severus . . .look at me. Tell me."

The proud man before him suddenly slumped visibly and bowed his head.

"I'm sorry, Albus. I have failed you."

"You can never fail me, child. Tell me."

"Headmaster . . .I . . .I have done something . . .I made a mistake . . . I", he swallowed, shook his head, and took a steadying breath. "I made an Unbreakable Vow. To Narcissa, with Bellatrix as our bonder. They came to me; Narcissa was frantic about Draco being set a task that he would not survive. I agreed to help him . . . and to complete it myself if Draco cannot. I did not know what the task was until after I had made the Vow. A very stupid thing to do, I'll admit - not the first, although hopefully my last".

"I see", Dumbledore said slowly, looking thoughtfully at the younger wizard before him and then surveying the simmering cauldrons as though seeing them for the first time. "Severus - you cannot run from an Unbreakable Vow. Whatever the task is, you will have to carry through with it. It cannot be all that bad, can it? Nothing that we cannot circumvent?"

Snape barked out a half-crazed laugh. "Oh, yes. It is that bad, Albus". Snape's voice broke and dropped to a whisper. "Albus, his task is to kill you".

Albus sighed and stroked his beard. Several long minutes passed while the Headmaster contemplated the news of his upcoming assassination while the potions master paced nervously back and forth.

Finally the Headmaster came out of his reverie and followed Snape's pacing with solemn blue eyes. "Well . . . we both knew that this would happen someday. We will just have to make the most of what time we have left and plan accordingly. Death is, after all, only the beginning of the next Great Adventure."

Severus had stopped his pacing and stood with his back toward the Headmaster. He stiffened visibly at the Headmaster's words and clutched the edge of the desk in front of him as if for support. "I am not afraid of death, Albus", he ground out, head bowed, his face hidden by a curtain of black hair. " And yes, I have always known it would come to this. I am merely sorry that you and the Order will no longer have a spy in the Inner Circle to provide information. That I will no longer be able to help the side of the Light". The words came out haltingly, barely above a whisper. "I am not afraid of death, Albus", he repeated. "I had just hoped to have more time . . .I am not as excited about the next 'Great Adventure' as are you . . . I have not done enough . . .I could never do enough . . ."

Snape tensed as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Severus . . . my dear boy . . .you misunderstand", Albus began softly, turning Snape gently to face him. Another hand came, gently cupping the younger wizard's chin so that the older wizard was looking into the dulled black orbs of the younger. "I did not mean you. It is I who will be taking this journey."

The potions master looked uncomprehendingly at Dumbledore before rasping out "what do you mean?"

"I mean, Severus, that you will follow through with your oath. That you will kill me. Young Draco is certainly not up to the task, I daresay."

"Of course he's not", barked Snape, dull eyes instantly flashing angrily. "He is not nor ever will be a murderer. He does not have it in him. He's not like his father. Or me."

"You are not like Lucius".

Snape turned away abruptly. "But I am a murderer, nonetheless", he said, staring blankly at the desk in front of him.

"Not in your heart, Severus. Never has it been in your heart."

"We have had this conversation many times, old man", Severus sneered, turning his head to look at Albus, and then looking away again. "It has never changed the fact of what I am. Of what I have done."

"What you have done, my boy, has taken great courage and strength. You have saved countless lives . . ."

"I have taken countless lives", interrupted Snape angrily. I have killed, murdered, maimed how many? You told me when I came crawling back to you that I could redeem myself. Instead of a Dementor's Kiss, you offered salvation." Snape's flashing black eyes narrowed. "But how many have I killed since joining your side? For what? Mercy killings when they had been tortured? Killing one for the good of the many? It matters not. Their blood is on my hands. I can never do enough to make up for what I have done. I know where I am going after I die - to an eternity of damnation . . . and I deserve it!"

The dark man tensed again as the Headmaster's hand squeezed his shoulder a second time. "There will be a day, Severus, that you will be at peace with yourself; that you will finally see yourself as I do. Your soul will heal", Albus said softly, warmth spreading through every word. "You have struggled hard, and suffered much. And, I am so very, very sorry that I have to add to your torment."

Severus turned to face the Headmaster, a scowl on his pale face. "I am sorry, Albus that I made such a Vow. It was thoughtless. But I am prepared".

"Prepared to do what?" Albus asked with an air of bemusement.

"I am prepared to die", Severus ground out. "I will make as much as I can of the po - "

"You will do no such thing", Albus interrupted, shaking his head. "Didn't you understand - I am asking you to follow through with your oath. I am asking you to kill me - well, not right now", he said with a dry chuckle at Snape's horrified expression. "Actually, this will work out for the best, really. It will definitely force Harry to assume more responsibility. And it will place you in a better position within Voldemort's Inner Circle."

"Albus!" Severus boomed. "There is no way in hades that I could do that! You are far too important . . . I could never . . . how could you even think such a thing?"

"Severus", Albus began firmly, his expression serious. "You know what time I have left. This is only circumstance coinciding with fate."

"You are not going to die, Albus", Snape growled harshly. "There is still time. I still have all of Pratha's research on the effects of invasive dark curses to go through. There is a good chance that . . ."

He stopped talking as the old Headmaster shook his head, saying "no, my boy - you know as well as I do - there is no saving me from this" and he held up a blackened skeletal hand. "Do you think I would not rather go by the hand of a dear friend, and have my going used for the good of the Order, or waste away until I am powerless and my condition detrimental to the cause?"

Snape passed a hand over his face, looking suddenly very tired, his face etched in harsh lines made him appear much older than his years.

"You are much too important, Headmaster", he said shakily. "The Order needs you. Your knowledge, your guidance . . . They will surely fail without you".

"You are more important than I, my boy. Your position gives us invaluable knowledge. Aside from their plans, you know how to read them; what they are most likely to do, how they will react to our own actions."

Snape's expression darkened and he bit out "of course I do - I am one of them!" He turned away from the Headmaster's sad eyes. "And just how do you propose I get this vital information to the Order? You are the only one that trusts me, Headmaster. They would kill me on sight."

"We will find a way, my boy. We will find a way".

"Albus . . .", the dark man turned to the Headmaster with a pleading look in his eyes. "I cannot do this", he whispered. "Please don't make me do this. What you are asking of me . . . it will kill me".

The white bearded wizard looked thoughtfully at the anguished potions master before him. Finally he said gently, "I trust you, Severus Snape, and always have, to do the right thing. The thing that will, in the end, be for the good of our world. You know in your heart that I am right."

The memory ended as the Headmaster turned away from a trembling Snape, ostensibly leaving the dungeons.

Hector looked around at the crowd of paled faces, noticing with satisfaction the wetness on many. The memory had shaken them to the core. As for Scrimgeour . . .

He looked murderous. Hector quickly fumbled with the second memory phial and emptied it into the basin without further ado.

The second memory was rather anticlimactic. It showed the Potions Master and the Headmaster of Hogwarts arguing in a shaded spot that must have been somewhere between Hogsmeade and the castle. The heated words and angry gestures could not belie the concern that radiated from each other's eyes towards the other. The argument was much the same as in the previous memory, and only served to verify the obvious.

Severus Snape had not killed the Headmaster on his own accord - as a Death Eater. He had been asked - ordered in the last memory - to do it by Albus Dumbledore himself.

Silence descended on the crowd as they waited for the Minister's reaction.

Scrimgeour, his face purple and jaw muscle working overtime, stood slowly. "The Wizengamot will convene in executive session to reach a verdict", he said tersely, his mind buzzing with how to gain back control.

Hector found he had been holding his breath and began sucking air into his lungs with raspy, trembling breaths. A marked change in the atmosphere made him fairly confident that the Minister could do nothing but exonerate the professor now. Where the crowd had looked at the accused man with contempt before, now there were looks of pity.

He took a step towards the man still bound to the chair, wanting to speak encouragement to the dark man, but Snape had not blinked once during the viewing of the memories. He looked for all the world like pictures Hector had seen of wizards after being Kissed by a Dementor.

Hector shivered. Were they too late to save him?

AN: Nothing original here, I know. Mostly another rendition of the same theory most Snape fans have of Dumbledore's murder. Purely for backstory purposes. Another chapter or two of backstory before we move foreward.

Sorry for the delay. Around the end of January, I went to see the stage production of Phantom of the Opera and developed a new obsession. I have since read both the Leroux original (skimmed the day before seeing the play and read carefully twice through since) and Kay's version (almost done, but I've read the ending twice already and cried both times) and watched the 2004 movie. Played the soundtrack endlessly for about a month. And of course - have been searching through fan fiction looking for good Phan Phics. I think the disease is under control now. Not completely cured, but recovering. Like an addict.

I think it would make a hilariously good fic to bring the Phantom to Hogwarts to meet Severus. They have so much in common; Erik and Snape would make a great team, even though they would probably never trust each other. I see lots of snark. Maybe someday, someone will oblige me.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Alas, Severus Snape is not mine; he belongs to J.K. Rowling, as do all other characters and wondrous things in the Harry Potter universe. There will be a few characters that are mine, but no profit is being made. They only want to play.

Chapter 4: Rumors and Gossip

The Council of Nine met rarely, yet, when they did on occasions of vast urgency, it was a very solemn affair. They met only when matters of earth required their intervention, when an imbalance in power threatened to spiral the fragile existence of earth's inhabitants into utter chaos.

Their meeting-place was not exactly in the physical plane, but had the look and feel of the physical - at least from the inside. It was a room, a room with no location, and no outward appearance. Just a room that existed by itself, out of nowhere.

The room itself was triangular, shaped like a pyramid, its cold stone walls broken by neither door nor window - yet the interior, though dark, was clearly visible. Symbols adorned the three sides, each representing One of the Nine. Along one wall was a representation of Yin-Yang, taoist symbol of the interplay of forces in the universe; next was Hunab Ku, the supreme creator god of the Maya; and Horus, protector god of the egyptian Pharaoh. The next wall displayed the Alpha and Omega, representing the eternal nature of Jesus Christ; after that was the Triple Horn of Odin, emblem of the Norse god Odin; and then the pentacle, representing the integration of body and spirit and spiritual mastery of the four elements. The third wall showed the African symbol of god alone, the Gya Nyame; next was the Celtic Triquetra, representing the triplicities of mind, body, and soul, as well as the three domains of earth - earth, sea, and sky; and finally the Caduceus, the legendary wand of the Greek god Hermes, symbol of harmony and balance.

In the center of the room stood the Round Table; the very same Round Table as was built by Merlin.

The thin air of the room stirred from a sudden breeze from an unknown source, and gradually thickened, becoming murky and opaque. This thickened air stirred again and shapes gradually emerged and shifted, and then separated into nine distinct but shadowy beings, each taking their place in front of their corresponding symbols on the walls. Some of the shapes had formed whole bodies, a white cloudy form of a body; others just formed heads, still others were heads and upper torsos.

They each looked around the great table and nodded gravely at one another.

"_The Wicked One was not vanquished, but fueled by hatred."_

"_It has become a devil, a demon, it lurks in shadows, and taints the innocent."_

"_Evil grows in the darkness and feeds on hatred, it grows ever stronger and must be smitten."_

"_The wrong must be set right."_

"_The boy of prophecy betrayed the teachings, and thus failed."_

"_The Redeemed One sits in despair and solitude, who will be his champion?"_

"_Send the boy to the Underworld, lock him in eternal combat with his enemy. Let that be his fate and his salvation."_

"_The seer proclaims an alliance can yet be born, but what will be the catalyst?"_

"_Who will be the catalyst?"_

The voices reverberated around the chamber, deep and serene, echoing into the void.

"_He must be a warrior."_

"_He must be a slayer."_

"_No, the prophecy still holds. The boy must wield the final blow."_

"_He must pull the boy from the darkness. He must be a teacher."_

"_Nay, the boy must learn the way back from the Redeemed One. He must save the Child of Destiny."_

"_He must be brave."_

"_He must be cunning."_

"_He must be objective of the events, but have a link to their world."_

_The last shadowy form thought silently for a moment and then nodded to himself._

"_He must be a she."_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Remus lay quietly, gazing with equal parts amusement and affection at the young witch sleeping beside him. She was snoring softly, even though she was half-turned on her side, facing him, one arm slung across his chest. Her hair, turned back to its natural brown in sleep, had been a vivid pink two hours earlier, when they had engaged in a rather spirited and rollicking sex. Now, he eyed the arm resting on his chest warily, and considered his options. She had proved to be an active sleeper, constantly turning, sometimes flailing; the night before she had bloodied his nose in her sleep when she flung her arm wide. His howl of pain had not even woken her.

Gingerly, so as not to wake her, he moved her arm and sat up. He could not sleep with all the events of the last few days swirling in his mind; the waning crescent moon doing nothing to relieve his tension. Severus's release from Azkaban had been a relief, but his physical condition had left Remus guilt-stricken. Added to that was his conversation with Albus's portrait, which had reduced him to a shame so raw he had been physically sick for a whole day. And now, today, his meeting at the Ministry.

A full year after the defeat of Voldemort and it was safe to say that things were not going well. At least, it was safe to say among his close friends and associates. Remus Scrimgeour, who had always been an unpleasant and mean-spirited man in Remus's opinion, was up to something.

And it involved Harry.

A month after Voldemort's defeat, when Harry and Ginny had married, Remus had sensed something . . . off. He couldn't quite place it, had chalked it up to after war jitters, but now, looking back, he knew that even then Harry had changed. He seemed colder, more moody, and his temper, always explosive before, was darker, more dangerous. He supposed that was to be expected after casting Avada Kedavra on Voldemort, which, no doubt, had needed all of Harry's hatred to fuel the curse. The problem was that Harry seemed to be getting worse. And even though he had followed Albus' orders concerning Snape, Harry remained unwavering in his hatred and contempt for the spy.

Especially after the trial, which was when Scrimgeour had requested Harry's audience, and the two seemed to have struck a truce. Not a coincidence, in Remus's mind. He worried uneasily about what may have transpired between the two, what Rufus could have possibly done or said to get Harry on his side. Scrimgeour was definitely up to something, and planned on using Harry to get it.

He wondered if it had to do with Snape. Shifting uneasily at the thought, Remus looked to Tonks to find her brown eyes watching him with concern. Running his hand up and down her arm, he gave her an apologetic smile.

"Did I wake you?", he asked softly.

"Not at all, love. Your thoughts don't rattle nearly enough for that." She frowned at him thoughtfully, and he watched with some amusement as her hair shifted back to pink, and brown eyes turned sea-blue.

"Thinking about your meeting with Scrimgeour today? How'd it go? I meant to ask you before . . . well, you know . . .", Tonks trailed off sheepishly.

Remus smiled down at her. "Yes. I do know. And I'm not entirely sure how it went." He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He was now spokesperson for the werewolves and the meeting had been requested by the Minister in regard to the new Werewolf Registry, Restrictions, Control and Enforcement Act. Keeping the public safe from dangerous dark creatures, etc, etc.

"He was asking a lot of questions about the wolfsbane. He's planning something . . . I don't know . . . I don't like it. I just have a bad feeling, is all. None of what is happening now is right."

Tonks ran her hand along the side of his face, her thumb brushing across his dry lips.

"There are some things that are finally happening that are right.", she said slowly. "We'll figure out the rest. Together."

Remus drew in a deep, steadying breath and exhaled slowly, nodding his head.

"I ran into Hector while I was there. He still plans to appeal the terms of release. "

"He still feels bad, doesn't he?"

"I believe he expected a full pardon, or at least clemency, based on the circumstances. He certainly didn't expect parole, and the terms to be so restricting."

"But he should have known that Rufus was out for blood. And Snape did kill Dumbledore. No matter what the circumstances, the Wizengamot, with Rufus leading them, couldn't just dismiss that. He's lucky that Snape got parole."

"Well, Snape certainly had public support . . . for a while, at least. Rufus couldn't very well sentence him to the Kiss after viewing those memories, but parole still gives him power over Snape. It's just too bad everyone believes that latest nonsense coming from the Daily Prophet. Damage control from the ministry, of course. And Harry is letting them get away with it. I never would have believed his hatred for Snape would override his own pride. Confounded indeed. If anyone's confounded him, its Rufus, not Snape."

"He's been acting very strangely though, hasn't he?"

"Yeah. I saw Ginny with Hermione the other day. Ginny was crying. Apparently Harry had said some nasty things to her, which isn't like him at all. I don't know what to make of any of this."

Tonks just nodded her head and they both sat in silence for a few minutes, lost in their separate thoughts.

"I ran into Hermione at the library the other day", Tonks finally said. "She was doing research on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's judicial system. She's on the warpath, I should warn you. Especially that we have no laws against something the muggles call 'cruel and unusual punishment'."

"She's upset about how Snape was treated." It was a statement, not a question.

"_I'm _ upset about how he was treated. And it's not like I didn't know what was going on - those Azkaban guards talked about it enough. But I never . . . I should have . . . "

"_We_ _all _should have done something. Maybe we couldn't have prevented it, but we could have at least shown some support. We abandoned him, Tonks. All of us. Knowing full well why he did what he did, we left him to hang out to dry. Its always been easier to hate him, he always made sure of it. My God, Tonks, I can't even imagine what that had to be like for him, to do what he did. To kill a friend, a mentor, because it's the right thing, the only thing to do. And have to live with yourself afterwards. Not to mention what they did to him in Azkaban, and having to overcome that as well."

"They raped him, Remus", Tonks whispered brokenly. "For over a year, they raped, beat, and cursed him. Sexual torture is an art form to some of the Azkaban guards, it's their favorite method to break a prisoner. Physical torture is a close second. They treated Snape to both."

"Hector said his house elves have treated most of his physical injuries except for the hand and the limp, but he still hasn't really responded to anything else. He's showing all the signs of Acute Dementor Exposure. I don't know if he'll pull out of this or not."

They both sat quiet again before Remus continued with a forced brightness. "But if anyone can pull through all of that, it's Snape. He's strong, Tonks, and has a will of steel. He's a survivor. Hell, he's Slytherin. He'll make it through this. And we'll be there to help him."

That last sentence came out completely on it's own, and startles him silent.

The surprise he feels upon uttering those words is followed by renewed shame - for why should those words, words declaring support for another human being, an alley, compatriot, and colleague be so shocking?

Something any friend or family member would say and feel for another. But Snape - _no Severus_ - was alone. No family. No friends. Only two house elves and a portrait containing a dead man's memory.

Remus felt a new determination take hold. If Severus pulled through, if his mind was not already broken - and Merlin forbid, even if it was - Remus would be there for him. It would be a battle, he knew. Possibly one of the toughest battles Remus had ever fought. But it was a battle long overdue; a stance he should have taken ages ago.

He would become a friend to Severus Snape.

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_Five months later . . ._

The little trading post stood alone on a remote wind-swept clearing, at the crossroads of two dirt paths - the only major roads in the area. It was the closest place the local witches had to obtain supplies and exchange gossip, at least for those who had small children too small to apparate or floo. The nearest village was a good day's ride by broom.

None of the area residents really minded. Their little cluster of homes were scattered miles apart from their nearest neighbors in this remote area of the Scottish Highlands; the little store had been a part of their lives since before they could remember. Going to the store was as much a social function as going to a dance. The witches always tried to outdo each other with the latest fashions, the men ignored them in favor of card games or chess, and the little ones ran amok, supervised by no one in particular and by everyone at the same time.

A wide verandah spanned the entire length of the storefront. Elsie Goodman, a rather plump, hefty witch in her mid 60's, sat fanning herself in one of the many spindle rockers scattered on the porch. It was an uncomfortably warm day for early June, promising a long, hot summer to come.

"Have you heard the news, Gwen", she crowed to her neighbor in the next rocker - a younger witch in her early 50's who was almost but not quite as robust as Elsie.

"You mean about Edna's daughter and that muggle tennis player?", Gwen replied, and then giggled. "My, but he is dreamy, isn't he? Does she think he's the one? You think she'll tell him? You think . ."

"No, no no, Gwen, that's old news. Why I just heard . . ."

"She'd better have someone handy, just in case", another witch with short dark hair interrupted. "She was never any good at _Obliviate_. She tells him and he freaks, he'll likely wind up at St. Mungo's for sure if she tries to do it herself."

"Really, Sharon", Elsie eyed the slender witch with distaste. "Just how would you know - did she try it on you? Could it be that's why you forgot to tell us that you saw HIM the other day, hmmm? I know you did because old man Jones was there - he had sense enough to hide behind the bushes - but he saw you and that double-crossing no-good. Said you passed him by and didn't even have sense enough to let out a good scream to alert the neighbors. Nearly gave him a heart attack, he said. Thought the devil would hex you for sure for being in his way."

"Really, Elsie", Sharon, the slender witch replied. "He had his head down the whole time - he never even looked up! I don't think he even knew I was there. As for telling you all about it - nothing happened. There was really nothing to tell."

"Nothin' to tell!", screeched Elsie. "We get the most vile man in wizarding Britain dumped in our backyard and you tell me there was nothing to tell!? I'm tellin' you, we have to keep our eyes and ears open! Constant Vigilance! Just like that nice retired auror, Mr. Moody said when he told us all that scum was comin' our way . . ."

"Oh, that poor man - Moody, I mean", Gwen quickly clarified after a sharp glance from Elsie. "Why, to think that he fought so bravely with only one leg and one eye - well normal eye, anyway", she half giggled, then continued. "And now he has only one arm and one ear left as well. Sure hope he doesn't get into any more battles. I do declare, I don't think that poor man has anything left to give!"

"Even so, he still feels duty-bound to protect us innocents from convicted murderers like Snape . . ."

Sharon cut in. "But Professor Snape was . . ."

"He's not a professor anymore. He's a parolee. And he would have been Kissed or at the least sentenced to life in Azkaban, if that Sizemore feller had been smart enough to check his evidence", Elsie stated firmly, fanning herself faster in the noonday heat. "And his sources. They say that Potter kid was likely Confounded. Why, that poor boy has been through the ringer - it's no small wonder he's not a resident at St. Mungo's what with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named messin' with his head and all."

"It's just so confusing", complained Gwen who, like Elsie was fanning herself frantically in the heat. She privately longed to cast a cooling charm on herself, but Elsie would frown on that. Elsie had a flair for the dramatic. She had just finished reading an old muggle book called 'Gone With the Wind', set in the 19th century American South and liked to imagine herself as Scarlett O'Hara. Gwen was loathe to appear any less dramatic, and so refrained herself, with an effort, not to use the charm - it would ruin the effect of them being southern belles.

"Watching those memories on the wireless - they seemed so real. But now all those articles in the Prophet and the Minister's speech last month - I just don't know what to think anymore" Gwen finished in exasperation, touching a hanky to her forehead to daintily mop at the perspiration there.

"Isn't it obvious?" Elsie asked sharply. "That Snape's a sneaky bastard who slithered out of what he had coming to him. Apparently, he's had lots of practice - he got away scot free during the first war too . . . Dumbledore, poor deluded man that he was, vouched for him personally. Bet Dumbledore would blast him to next year if he could now, though."

"Why did they have to stick him here, of all places though?" Gwen asked bitterly. "I just don't feel safe at all anymore. And the Johnson's and McCaffey's both moved to Lazer's Creek, all the way on the other side of London. Their families have been here for generations. I don't want to move, but I don't feel good about stayin' either."

"We'll be fine, Gwen", said Sharon. "I don't think he'll hurt us . . ."

"Of course he won't hurt us", Elsie snapped. "He'd be a right nitwit to try. Especially since the Minister had the foresight and presence of mind to give him all those restrictions. You know he's not allowed to do any magic. The Minister snapped his wand before his release. And he can't come on to anyone's property without gettin' special permission from the landowner's themselves. And it all has to be documented and filed at the Ministry of Magic. Why, the only place I know where he's allowed is to this very store to get ingredients for that potion he has to make for St. Mungo's. And he is only allowed to come here on Wednesdays and has a specific route he has to walk to get here. And that Granger muggle-born friend of Potter's and Potter's werewolf friend. Don't know what in the world they was thinking, giving him access privileges like that!"

"How do you know those are the only places he's allowed?" asked Sharon.

"Because, Mr. Moody keeps me informed. Said he'd keep us up-to-date so's we know what's going on", Elsie replied primly.

Gwen looked at her with a hint of jealousy in her eyes. "What else did Mr. Moody say?"

"Only that Snape's under constant surveillance. They got him on some kind of rehabilitation program, and they check on him every week - search his house and stuff. They make sure he hasn't done any magic. They take him to St. Mungo's to check his magical levels for that. There's an auror Dawlish who is in charge of him - his Minder, I think they call it. Must be pretty good at it - Mr. Moody said Snape's afraid of him and laughed."

"Rehabilitation program? What's that?" Sharon asked, frowning.

"Oh, I don't know exactly. He's got to do stuff for them and go with them to make public appearances - sort of like community service, I think. That's why he is required to make the potion for St. Mungo's - it's a healing potion that doesn't have any ingredients that could be used for any nastiness, of course. The minister got the idea from the muggles. You know, how they use convicts for roadwork and stuff."

"But he was granted parole, wasn't he?" Sharon asked.

"Yes, but Sizemore agreed to the restrictions. It was either that or Scrimgeour was going to appeal on the basis that the evidence was fake and order a new trial. It could have taken years. and he would have been kept locked up in Azkaban the whole time. Hector agreed to the terms, but I guess he wasn't happy."

"So, you're saying we should be safe?" Gwen asked, looking at Elsie for reassurance.

"Quite safe", Elsie said smugly. "One toe out of line and boom! He's back in Azkaban where he belongs".

"I just hope he doesn't go mental and kill us all", muttered Gwen darkly. "Knowing he'll be going back to Azkaban won't be too comforting if we're all dead!"

Whatever reply Elsie was going to make got lost as two little boys and two girls came screeching around the corner, play wands raised in mock battle. "Avada Kedavra!" yelled one of the girls, her play wand pointed at a little blond 4-year-old boy with a smudge of dirt on his chin. "You missed!" yelled the boy, who ran down the wide porch, snaking through the three women sitting there, and around another corner out of sight. "Did not!" screamed the girl, chasing after the boy through the women and around the corner after him. "Avada Kedavra! You're dead!" they heard her yell. "Stop running and fall down! I'm an auror and I just killed you!" The children's shouts faded as they ran off into an adjacent yard.

Elsie and Gwen chuckled. "That reminds me", Elsie laughed. "I heard that Harry Potter is going into the Auror's Training Program. Just think what He-Who-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be able to do with the proper training!"

"Yeah, if we live that long" Gwen grumbled.

"Oh, that reminds me again! My news! You all got me so sidetracked I almost forgot the biggest news yet!" Elsie said excitedly.

Gwen and Sharon looked at each other with raised eyebrows, each thinking the same - what on earth could be more newsworthy than having a Death Eater in their midst. They waited expectantly while Elsie pulled her chair closer to the others'.

After settling down again and producing three iced glasses of lemonade, Elsie continued.

"Well, Mr. Moody told me this - I guess the Ministry of Magic's been buzzing with the news for awhile now. But they don't want to make any grand announcements - might just scare some folks silly - could be she'll come and go and no one will be the wiser. But some in the Ministry are all up in arms over it". Elsie looked around as if to make sure no one was listening in.

"Well, do tell, Elsie", cried Sharon in exasperation.

"Well, O.K. but only cause we all will probably get to see her. You see, she's coming here. Going to be leasing that old muggle's house - Snape's grandparents estate it is, on the father's side. He's livin' in the old Prince house that sits behind it beyond the woods and the lake. Be a stone's throw away, she will. Maybe she'll vanquish him. Mr. Moody thinks that's why they steered her here. Hopin' she'll do him in."

"WHO are you talking about!" both Gwen and Sharon cried.

"Charity. Charity Wilson", crowed Elsie, looking smug. "You'll never guess who she is!"

"I don't believe I ever heard of a Charity Wilson, before." answered Sharon.

"Oh, do tell us! Who is she? And why is she coming here?", asked Gwen.

"Charity Wilson is an Ariconte"

"A what"

"Ariconte. Aren't they all from America?" asked Sharon.

"They all went to America. From here. About two hundred fifty - three hundred years ago. Nobody is FROM America unless they're natives." Elsie replied in a condescending tone.

"Whatever. Is she here on vacation or something?"

"No. Apparently she has a job to do. Mr. Moody said that the Council - Ariconte leaders, I guess - assigned her to do their own independent investigation into the war with He-Who-Still-Must-Not-Be-Named. To make sure it doesn't happen to them, I guess. She's gonna write a book or something, is my guess, and report her findings to the Council."

"What's an Ariconte?" asked Gwen, looking from Elsie to Sharon and back again.

"There an odd race of witches", Elsie said, shaking her head. "They actually live among muggles - can you believe it? Think their magic's some gift to be used for a higher calling and so they use it almost exclusively to protect muggles from dark wizards and vampires and the like. Arrogant, is what they are. All looking down their noses at us. But they are formidable fighters, I'll give 'em that much. Killers, is what they really are. Dark Magic hunters."

"Then where were they when He-Who-Still-Must-Not-Be-Named was rampaging through Britain?"

Elsie shrugged her shoulders. "Good question. Apparently decided it was not their problem."

"Well, then if that's how they felt, why should we help them now?" Gwen demanded.

"You tell 'em no", Elsie scoffed. "If the Minister can't stop her from coming, I'm certainly not about to get in her way. They've lived in America for generations. Terrible tempers they have. Besides, you don't know what they can do."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they don't use wands. They have Inherent Magic. Hereditary witches they are, magic gets passed down from generation to generation."

"So, they are all purebloods?"

"No, they marry muggles lots of times. But the magic gets passed down anyways regardless. I suppose, those who are purebloods have more powerful magic. But like I said, they don't use wands. Mr. Moody says they each have special powers that they can wield just by thinking about it."

"That actually sounds pretty limiting", Sharon, who had been quiet for some time, put in now. "We can do wandless magic too, if the situation is desperate enough. And think of all the hexes and curses we know. If they only have a handful of powers, then why are they so special, even if they can do them without wands?"

"Because, Sharon", Elsie replied as if to a small child. "They use their powers to destroy dark wizards and demons - to kill. And, it's not only their own powers they use - they can tap into the magical realm of their ancestors with all kinds of spells. It's an ancient and very powerful magic. Mr. Moody is not happy at all that she is coming here. But he vows that she'll be registered just like everyone else. Otherwise, she won't be allowed to stay."

"Will we know what powers she possesses? After she gets registered?"

"I'm sure Mr. Moody will inform us. He has been quite forthcoming." Elsie smiled to herself.

"Maybe it will be worth it. Her coming here, I mean. Maybe she'll take one look at Snape and will send him to hell in a blaze of fire", Gwen muttered.

Elsie smiled grimly at the vision: A plump witch with short mousy hair and lazer-like beams of fire shooting out of her eyes. And Snape, terror in his eyes for an instant before his body was engulfed in a howling mass of flames.

Oh, yes. They would all have front row seats to watch the event. And they would be the ones to tell the tale for years to come.

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A/N I have borrowed the Ariconte from a South American myth – the Ariconte and Tamendonare – twins with different fathers who set out to avenge the murder of their mother. Each one died and was reborn with his brother's help. I have twisted it for this fic to fit the different "races" of witches. Think Star Trek and the relationship between Vulcans and Romulans.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Alas, Severus Snape is not mine; he belongs to J.K. Rowling, as do all other characters and wondrous things in the Harry Potter universe. There will be a few characters that are mine, but no profit is being made. They only want to play.

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Chapter 4 - The Manor-House of Prince

The manor-house of Prince was a very old medium-sized estate of gray stone, buried deep in a wood. The front of the house was uninviting with half-boarded up narrow windows; broken steps lead to a massive but decaying wooden door. A massive portico loomed overhead, leaning on crumbling granite pillars. Moss grew unchecked on the northern side, where a dilapidated and sunken porch overlooked a backyard garden, overgrown and thick with weeds.

The inside of the manor was in no better condition, even though it had recently been scrubbed clean. Uninhabited for years and mostly unfurnished; the air still smelled dank and stale. The house was three stories high, and even though no elaborate ornaments decorated the casings, there was an unmistakable impression that this manor-house had at one time been a distinguished dwelling. Deep cherry and mahogany wood were mixed throughout, which may have given the rooms a formal look, but with the boarded and heavily curtained windows, sunk the home into a gloomy despair.

The kitchen though, was somewhat of a cheerier nature. The window above the sink was unobstructed, letting filtered sunlight into the plentiful workspace. A long oaken table sat in the middle of the spacious room, where a tiny house elf sat working on arranging steaming rice and vegetables attractively on a plate. Humming a little to herself when she was satisfied with the results, she nodded to another house elf who had just entered the kitchen.

"Is ready, Tiff", she said, nodding her head at the plate of food. "I's hoping Master eats today. I make sure is his favorite today! Master Snape must eat! Not good to only drink tea!"

"I know, Twink", sighed the other elf. "I take it to Master now. Master just finished brewing painkiller potion; bottling it up now. Bad men from Ministry will be here to pick it up tomorrow. Too bad Master Snape can't hide some away. Will need it tomorrow."

"I won't let bad men hurt Master again!" Twink said emphatically. "I protects him this time. Don't cares what Master Snape says! Can't stop me!"

"Twink! Bad Elf! Master needs to make more potion for you, now! Is dangerous what he doing! Must obey him or he get in more trouble because of you!", Tif cried. "Go iron your ears!" he added hotly.

"Master says never punish ourselves", Twink pouted. "Fine for you - you says obey him and then tells me to do disobey thing! You not my master - you get me in trouble in first place!"

Tif glared at the other elf. "I be back. Take Master supper and make sure he eat. I tells him about you. Master will have to make more potion. You prepare ingredients - Master be too tired - hurt hand will cramp again. Must do tonight or you get us all in trouble when bad men from Ministry come tomorrow." Twink glared back as Tif took the plate of food and disappeared with a loud 'plop'.

Twink sighed, remembering how things had gotten so messed up. It really was her fault, although Tif obviously was guilty as well. It was just the fact that she was the only that would exhibit the side-effects that made her appear the more guilty.

If she and Tif were found out, they would be executed. And then their Master would be alone, with no one to take care of him. And probably sent back to that awful prison place again, just for knowing about them and helping them. That fact, more than any other made her determined to obey him, if she could.

She had been a Hogwarts house elf for many years, happily working in the kitchens when the long white-bearded Master Headmaster had reassigned her to work with Professor Snape. Professor Snape was very busy, the white-bearded Headmaster had explained, and needed her help preparing ingredients for his potions, even though said Potions Master had looked at the Headmaster darkly at that. She had been deathly afraid of him at first - none of the other house elves would voluntarily go near him; rumors had it that he used house elves as ingredients when he was displeased and irate - which was most of the time. Gradually she discovered that this was a myth. Master Snape was exacting in his expectations of her, but he had never harmed her. In fact, the one time that she had cut herself and bled all over the salamander leaves, he had grabbed her, healed her half-torn finger, and then had flatly refused to let her stuff herself into a boiling cauldron. He had crossly told her that she would have ruined hours of his work, but she had her doubts.

That year had not been a good year. Her new master had been run ragged, making potions, teaching his dunderheads and grading their pitiful assignments, none of which were worth the parchment they were written on, according to him. Getting him to eat had become a challenge - she had taken to leaving tidbits of food for him everywhere in the vain hope that he would at least eat one meal a day. And to top it off, the Master Potions Master would disappear for hours on end, only to come back pale and trembling, frequently bleeding, and every now and then convulsing with the after effects of the cruciatus curse. Headmaster Dumbledore would sometimes ask her about the Potions Master's health after these absences, but she would never tell. He was her Master now, and she would keep his secrets.

She remembered vividly when Headmaster Dumbledore had come to her toward the end of that year, and had given her special instructions. She had been most anxious, feeling that she was doing something wrong, but the Headmaster had assured her she was a good house elf, that her Master would need her badly in the future. Something Bad was going to happen, something that would send her Master away for a long time. She would be needed to care for him when he returned. The Headmaster had given her instructions on what to prepare and the details of when and where. He had also informed her that she would be going away from Hogwarts as well, but not until after the war. She would not be needed until then. And then she had met Tif.

Oh, she had been furious to discover that she had to share her Master with another house elf. Who else but her knew what foods he liked best? Which ones he was most likely to eat when upset? She had thought this new elf would cower in terror when her Master spoke with the icy venom that was his wont - she had learnt to disregard it. But Tif would probably know it as well. He should. He had been serving the Prince family for generations. Had known the Master from the time of his birth.

As for the icy venom . . . well . . . it had never been heard once since their Master had returned. And Twink found she would give anything to hear it again.

Headmaster Dumbledore had said it would be a while after the war ended before Master Snape would return. That he would probably have to go to a Bad Place first before coming to the manor-house to live. That the Bad Place would somehow hurt Master Snape, even though he should only be there for a short time. She didn't think Headmaster Dumbledore had known it would be for over a year.

Or that he would come back not just a little hurt, but broken.

Twink had been jealous of Tif when she found out he had been able to serve the Master occasionally before the war had ended, after the Bad Thing had happened. He had told her haughtingly that it would have been too risky for their Master for her to do it. Now, she was grateful to have another elf with her to share the burden of fixing the Master.

It was an extreme twist of irony that the young master was functioning as well as he was.

When the balding lawyer wizard had arrived with their Master at last, they had been shocked at his condition. They had cleaned him up quickly, bathed him, washed and cut his hair to its normal shoulder length, and then gently levitated him onto the silky sheets of the large bed, where they continued their ministrations.

First, were the injuries. His body was covered with angry red welts - old ones that had scarred badly; newer ones that still seeped with puss. They both knew he had scars from before the war, and many that his Dark Lord had inflicted during his days of spying, but those were totally lost among the new ones that decorated his body.

The bottoms of his feet were crusted with blood and one hand was kept curled protectively against his chest, fingers gnarled and twisted grotesquely. His right hand, his wand hand and the one he used most frequently to stir potions with. Bones had been broken, healed improperly, and then broken again, time after time by the looks of it. Neither elf had the power to heal it. The bones in both feet had been broken as well, but not as often, and that they could heal better.

On his left arm, the Dark Mark still stood out vividly. This mark would now never fade, as it had been etched most permanently into the skin. Circling his right wrist was a new brand that neither elf had seen before. Resembling a thick, strong chain, it fairly reeked of dark magic. A dark binding of some sort, they guessed, having to do with his status of parolee. It pulsed now with a fevered rhythm, in time with the labored heartbeat of the man who bore it.

Shaking themselves from the sight of both markings, they busied themselves with healing various other injuries - minor fractures of the skull, a thrice broken nose, ruptured eardrums and torn ligaments. There were also minor curses left on his body that they could deal with handily: a rotating insomnia and nightmare hex, a nasty twice-as-gravity hex applied to his whole body, and a one-and-a-half-foot shackle curse on his legs. There were also two charms on his body - one a bowel and bladder cleansing charm and one a basic nutrient replenishing charm. After a little discussion, they removed the cleansing one, but left the nutrient one. They could remove it later when they knew it was no longer needed.

Once satisfied that his injuries were taken care of, they turned their attention to his emaciated form. To say that young Master Snape was malnourished was like saying it was cold out at 40 below zero. Rib and clavicle bones jutted out prominently; pale skin sagged on a once solid frame. The Potions Master had always been on the too thin side to suit either house elf; both had heard Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, warning about him not carrying any extra weight. According to her, a little extra was necessary to fall back on in case of sickness. Looking at him now, they knew what she meant. Apparently, Headmaster Dumbledore had foreseen this and had stocked plenty of potions to boost his professor's system and get him on the road to recovery. Twink and Tif would take over from there, by providing plenty of nourishing dishes - albeit soup and brothy stews to start with - if they could get him to eat.

What worried the elves the most though, and had Twink wringing her hands in despair, was this fact: all through their ministrations - from the bath to the removal of hexes - their Master had been awake, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling - but not a word did he speak. Even lying there naked as they healed his wounds and soothed his hurts, shivering in the cold until a cuff on the head from Tiff had sent Twink scurrying to find a sheet and blanket to cover him, he did not make a sound. Beads of sweat had appeared on his face as they had removed some of the hexes and healed his wounds and he had flinched away repeatedly when bathing him, but not a sound did he utter.

Nor did he make a sound for many days after that. He was as docile as a lamb - they lead him from his bed to his chair, and from his chair to the kitchen and back again for six days straight without as much batting an eye. In fact, he kept his eyes downcast, which was just as well. Twink shivered remembering how vacant those eyes had been. It was because of the Dementors, they knew. Tif knew the signs; he had seen it before. But that first time had not been as bad as this. Headmaster Dumbledore had said that there would not be dementors this time, but apparently he had been wrong. They had fed on his master - many, many times; it looked as if they had taken him to the brink of the Kiss. They were afraid his mind would never fully come back.

But then the Bad Men from the Ministry had come. The balding lawyer wizard had told them they would; that they would be here once a week until he could find some way to make them stop. The lawyer wizard was afraid they would hurt their master. He did not have to say this - they just knew by the way he fidgeted with his hat. Their Master was under Ministry Restrictions, which meant that he was subjected to the whims of the Bad Men. They would search the house and test for any traces of magic. He was not allowed to do any magic without permission. His wand had been snapped in front of him just prior to his release.

So when the Bad Men came storming into the house, brandishing their wands and breaking what little furnishings decorated the house, both elves made sure they were beside the Potions Master at all times. And when one of the Bad Men, a Mr. Auror Dawlish, had told them to leave, and then had kicked Twink so hard that she flew across the room and thudded into the wall with a frightened squeak when they had refused, well, that was when it happened.

A brief flash of anger in those black eyes.

Twink remembered the joy that had surged through her heart at the sight.

It was gone in a second, replaced by the vacant, glassy look once again, but they watched with a mixture of joy and trepidation as their Master struggled painfully to his feet and limped slowly to stand in front of Bad Man Auror Dawlish.

Dawlish circled him greedily while Snape stood with his disfigured hand clutched tightly to his chest, eyes downcast and head lowered, swaying slightly. The Master was trembling all over, seeming to simultaneously shrink inside himself and brace himself for something unpleasant. But when Dawlish raised his wand, Tif released his magic.

This time it was Dawlish who hit the wall with a thud. The four other Aurors came hurrying forward, but Tif sent them scrambling as well.

Tif was old. And powerful. And he would give his young master his life if need be.

"You will not hurt Master Snape!", Tif declared to a murderous looking Dawlish. "You will . . ."

"Tif. No."

The words were barely above a whisper; the voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. But it was their Master's voice. The first they had heard it since his return. Twink clutched Tif's arm as their Master dragged his eyes upward from the floor to look into the wide eyes of his elf and shook his head minutely in warning. Fathomless black eyes seemed to focus with a faint intensity.

Dawlish stalked forward with a grunt. Eying the elves warily, he rounded on Snape.

"The minister seems to have misjudged the _late_ Dumbledore. Should have known he'd have left guard dogs, as well as shelter for his _murderer_. But we'll see about that. Don't get too comfy here, _Death Eater_", the man had growled.

And then had come the rules. No stepping his foot off the property without express permission or accompaniment of aurors. He was to make a pain-relieving potion for St. Mungo's weekly for which he would receive no monetary gain. (And here he was reminded of how he now owned nothing; everything he possessed had been confiscated by the Ministry.) The needed ingredients would be delivered, no other potions ingredients was he permitted to possess. He was to participate in a 'rehabilitation program' devised by Dawlish - and here Dawlish had smiled icily and had given Snape a gloating look that had sent shivers down both elves spines. And finally his house and person would be checked weekly, to ensure that he wasn't 'going astray' by using magic. Any violations of these rules or indications that he was trying to hide anything during their searches would result in his being shipped back to Azkaban forthwith.

The aurors had left reluctantly, grumbling amongst themselves and scowling at the elves. Dawlish had made a few more comments to Snape, of which the elves could only make out the words 'health', 'control', and 'punishment'. Snape had kept his gaze firmly locked on the floor, but his shoulders and back had grown rigid at the words.

When they returned the following week, Dawlish's angry demeanor told of his lost battle to have the elves removed or Snape ousted from his shelter. The estate had belonged to Snape's maternal grandparents, but had been deeded over to Headmaster Dumbledore years earlier. There was no way Scrimgeour could touch it as it had been willed to an unknown wizard residing in America who, after an extensive search to find, had flatly told the minister to butt out of his business; he could let it to whomever he wanted.

The elves apparently, were owned by the same wizard and were charged with taking care of the estate and its belongings.

About a month later, their master had been given 'permission' to go to the general store located about 5 miles south of the estate to get the ingredients for the painkilling potion. The store owner had a list of the approved ingredients - a very short list it was - and the quantity allowed each time. Master was forced to go to the store each time before brewing, a feat that he accomplished like a robot, his body on autopilot. But, Twink had thought happily to herself - he needed the exercise as well as the outdoor air. Twink was nothing if not an optimist. Even about her own predicament.

Which had happened, again ironic enough, after another visit from the Bad Men.

They had taken to coming at random times, trying to catch them unawares, she supposed. She and Tif had been helping the master with the potion at the time, chopping the mandrake roots for him as it was still too hard for him to do it himself one handed. The alarm on the wards had sounded, alerting them to the presence of visitors approaching - something that they were sure Dawlish was unaware of. That they could not apparate directly inside the house was still a source of profound fury on the Minister's part. Dumbledore had erected the wards himself as a precaution; it was the one thing that seemed to have gone right as every effort to break through them had failed thus far. Unfortunately, they could still come up the walk and enter through the front door. They were, after all, not supposed to be evil.

Dawlish had not been with them, this time; instead there was a cocky apprentice named Zuber along with three regulars - Youngblood, Sneary, and Davis. They had done the regular - ransacked the house, checked for magical signatures, and searched and heckled their Master, who had ordered them after the first visit to not interfere. That they remained present was the only thing that prevented the aurors from hurting their Master more than they did, of this Twink was sure. And then Zuber, the young apprentice, had started taunting.

At first, there had been no response as usual, as Zuber had provoked and prodded, calling their Master everything from 'slimy git' and 'Death Eater' to 'mass murderer' and 'the thing'. He joked about Snape's time spent in Azkaban, vaguely referring to things that had been done to him about which the elves had already suspicioned. The master had stood through this with the same tenseness and downcast eyes as always, but with no other reaction.

And then Zuber had started talking about his fellow apprentice, Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, who was very angry at his former Potions Master. Harry Potter, who, everyone said, must have been tricked into getting a defense lawyer for Snape. Harry Potter who, everyone believed, was sure to be the one to serve justice on Snape for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter who was destined to be even more powerful than Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter who was starting to appear with Scrimgeour at social functions. Harry Potter who had publicly agreed with Scrimgeour about the Werewolf Restrictions Act and had openly argued, rather hotly, with his friend Remus Lupin, calling him - and here Zuber had quoted smugly - 'an animal who needed to be controlled, not only for the protection of the innocent, but for his own protection as well'.

All during this rant, the elves had watched their master carefully, knowing from past experience that if any name could elicit a response, it was the name of Harry Potter. It was not until near the end - at the mention of Scrimgeour - that a reaction could be detected. A slight tightening of the shoulder muscles; a brief scowl that was soon gone, noticeable only to the elves who knew him so well. But at the mention of the Werewolf Restrictions Act, and Potter's argument with Lupin, a sharp piercing look flashed in those black eyes - and stayed. And then, for the first time, their master spoke directly to his tormentor.

"So, the Great Harry Potter is too good now for his pet werewolf?" he said, his voice still rough and abrasive, but unmistakenly acidic nonetheless.

Zuber, visibly taken aback by the unexpected response, quickly recovered.

"Potter understands that some individual rights must be sacrificed to protect the larger society", he had said with disdain. "It is only a minor inconvenience - he can't show favoritism with Lupin when all the other werewolves have to report for lock-up."

Master Snape's eyes had narrowed slightly at this, a sign that quickened both elves heart rates. Their master was considering what he had learned. He was processing the information. Formulating his response to get more information. He was, in fact, thinking. His mind, his brilliant mind, was still intact! Still whole! They contained themselves from exclaiming; and watched their master manipulate the rest of the conversation with wide, prideful eyes.

He had sneered at Zuber. "Potter - sacrificing something? I'm sure our Great Hero sacrifices nothing", his voice, gathering strength, slid into a semblance of the silky tones of old - not quite there yet, but still foreboding enough to set shivers tingling down Zuber's spine. "Is the great Harry Potter afraid of his werewolf even knowing he is rendered quite harmless while on the Wolfsbane? Or is he too afraid to even give his pet his medicine, hmm?"

Zuber, had looked uncomfortable under the potions master gaze, but seemed to find renewed zeal at the prospect of hurting the man before him with what he knew.

"You don't know what happened, do you? I'd have thought that fool of a lawyer would have told you - but, I guess he was too afraid of getting hexed by his Death Eater client. Wolfsbane has been declared unsafe. The Minister just recently discovered that the real inventor of wolfsbane was in fact a known criminal . . . a Death Eater no less . . ." Zuber had smiled a knowing smile. "Can you believe it? All this time we thought Wolfsbane was invented by some French Potions Master. But now we know better. The minister had it tested - said with continued use, why . . . they all would have turned to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named . . . it really is a good thing that most of them didn't have the means to receive a steady supply of the stuff every month. Remus Lupin is being watched most carefully, of course. It seems he took his 'medicine' most faithfully."

Their master's eyes had flared with an intense anger at this news. His voice, now a more velveteen silk, continued with calculated maneuvering, his expression fixed in the classic sneer. "I do hope that our great and esteemed Minister has some plan in mind, if Wolfsbane is no longer an option. Perhaps another Potions Master could . . .improve upon the formula? It wouldn't seem right to just leave the werewolves to run amok every month, endangering everybody. Do tell me that the Minister, or Potter" (he spat the name with convincing hatred) "has some kind of plan?"

"Oh, they do. All werewolves must now report for lock-up each month. We really must get funding for additional cells - they make quite a mess, what with being all packed in there for 5 days a month", Zuber had said matter-of-factly.

"And the great Harry Potter has condemned his father's best friend to this fate?"

"Of course. He did not want to do it - but, as he said, he has learned to 'harden his heart' on some matters. He really has come a long way. After the war, he wanted nothing to do with the Minister - said Scrimgeour was nothing but a 'politically correct, power-hungry machosist'. Can you believe that? Now, he really seems to admire the man. Even taking his advise on how to handle his wife. Seems she's got some funny notions of what's decent for the wife of Harry Potter to be doing. But he put her in her place, he did. Guess he shoulda seen that one coming, seeing she's a Weasley." Zuber was nodding his head at his own words, seeming to forget his audience at the memory.

"I see", was all that Snape said. The elves could tell that he did, indeed see as he stared down at Zuber over the top of his hooked nose, his eyes narrowed and tight.

After the aurors left, Master Snape had paced relentlessly, back and forth, irregardless of his limp, muttering angrily to himself. Twink and Tif had watched happily as he ranted something about 'Potter and his blasted stubbornish pride', and being above following Albus's instructions. There was something in there about the 'damned boy not knowing the difference between love and hate, much less right and wrong'. Neither elf could make much sense out of any of it, but they didn't care.

Master Snape was back!

His mind was sound. The more he muttered and rambled in those beloved scathing tones the more festive they became.

They celebrated with butterbeer. The angrier the Master seemed to become, the happier they became and the more they drank.

And then they had done it.

The Unthinkable Thing.

It was not supposed to happen.

There were safeguards against this sort of thing happening. It hadn't happened to elves who were serving for a millennia. It was a condition of their Enslavement. As much as they loved their Master, they were afraid of what he would do when he found out. Of what he would be forced to do.

And, as much as they tried to hide it, he had found out. On the very next visit by the Bad Men. Twink had known what could happen, she just didn't expect the side-effects to manifest so quickly. She had tried to stay away from them - she had slunk to the back parlor while they were searching the living room. She had tip-toed to the kitchen while they destroyed the master suite. And when they had come in to ransack the kitchen, she had tried to sneak to the attic. But not quick enough. Tif, bless him, had tried to cover for her, but as soon as they came into the kitchen, her Master held at wandpoint, following Dawlish obediently, she had felt the raw anger boil up and knew it was over.

Master Snape had caught her gaze and she knew that he knew instantly.

And then he had commanded her harshly to punish herself. Severely. So shocked was she that she hardly heard him order Tif to accompany her to make sure she did so adequately. Tif had jerked her backward, away from the aurors and down the rickety stairs to the basement. It was a mess; it had already been searched. She had tried to fight; a part of her wanted - no needed - to get back upstairs to defend her Master. She could hear the aurors questioning him snidely regarding his unexpected behaviour. Another part, one that had proved stronger at that moment, had compelled her to obey his command for punishment.

And she had tried - really tried. But for some strange reason, Tif had kept getting in her way. He smartly foiled her plans to smash her brains on the stone walls. He whisked away the cauldron before she could fill it with boiling water to dive into. He had thwarted several more attempts before she almost succeeded in chopping both her and Tif's hand off - which was when he degenerated into tackling her and wrestled her to the ground, where they tumbled over and over each other across the dungeon floor. This they continued for quite some time until they heard a harsh voice growl "Stop!".

They had found themselves sprawled in an undignified heap at their master's feet.

Twink's eyes filled with tears as she remembered what her master had done. What he had said. Oh, she was so lucky to have such a good, wonderful master! Master Snape was back. And Master Snape cared about her - a lowly elf!

They had decided to make the potion that would alleviate most of her symptoms. Most of the ingredients had been found growing in the thick woods that surrounded the house - many ingredients had been discovered there actually - a fact that the idiots from the ministry apparently didn't realize. Perhaps they were too afraid to enter the dense growth - it was rumored to be filled with wild beasts. Whatever the reason, they had all the necessary ingredients but one - wormwood which he was substituting with cattails for the moment - making the potion not as effective but still much better than nothing.

As Twink busied herself with making orange biscuits for the next day, she started once more humming to herself. Yes, she still had bad moments when the potion's effectiveness started to wear off. That's when she felt the great surges of anger whenever she thought of the aurors. She shuddered to think what she might be capable of now if confronted with them without the potion. Master Snape had ordered her to punish herself that first time as a distraction, knowing that she would be compelled to follow the deeply ingrained command. A distraction! Master Snape was so thoughtful as to distract her from her affliction! She hummed happily and decided to make some oatmeal raisin biscuits as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tif found his master sitting rigidly in the straight-back chair as usual, staring blankly into the fire. He was shivering again. No matter how many clothes they layered on him or how high the fire was kept, he never seemed to be warm enough. Deep lines etched into the pale face made him look so much older than his forty-two years. The hair had turned greasy again, as it always did when brewing potions, and now hung limply in clustered strands about his face. He started out of his reverie when Tif set the food-ladened plate on a small stand beside him.

"Is Master Snape hungry, sir? Twink made Master Snape his favorite today, sir. Does it look to your liking?", the little elf asked hopefully.

The potions master blinked and said, "It is fine, Tif. Just leave it" without ever even glancing once at the plate, and resumed his contemplation of the fire with despairing eyes.

"She be hoping you have good appetite today. You not been eating enough", prodded the elf, which earned him only the barest of shrugs in response.

"Twink making bad comments again. I think potion wear off. They come tomorrow to pick up medicine potion. Maybe better if you give Twink clothes? You too tired and hungry to make potion for her!" Tif turned as if to go, but looked back at his master slyly.

Snape scowled a little before absently reaching for the plate. "No", he sighed, taking a small bite. "I will make the potion. It is too risky to do otherwise."

"Master Snape is very kind", said Tif happily.

A dark look crossed the potions master face and his eyes glinted. "I have never been kind", he said tonelessly, as he set the plate down and rose from his seat. "Tell Twink to chop the maiden grass and the hawthorn roots and to bring them to my - lab". He said the last word with a sneer. There had once been a fine lab in the basement, but the ministry had taken everything but one cauldron and a small worktable. That a potions master as skilled as Severus was reduced to making one potion that most first years could handle with ease was a further slap - a rather brutal one.

Tif watched his master walk away - the limp was still noticeable to those who cared to look - and sighed, eying the largely untouched meal. Well, one bite was better than none. He wondered sometimes if it weren't partly because of the pain from his branded wrist. He knew the pain ebbed and flowed at random, and could be most unbearable at times. Tif knew this only by the tightening of his masters mouth and the pinched look in his eyes. The hand was completely useless, and Snape still kept it curled protectively against his body at all times.

He wondered now, as he had over the past few weeks, if the Fates hadn't made him and Twink get into the trouble they were in to be a distraction for their master. Master Snape had always been a defender of those whom held his respect - sometimes, even those who did not.

He just worried that two lowly house elves would not be enough of a distraction to survive the hatred of the wizarding world.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N I am taking a great liberty with House Elf physiology, behaviour and restrictions. It's probably not hard to guess what the mystery affliction is, but if you haven't, it will be revealed in another couple of chapters.

I now have the weekend free to devote to reading Deathly Hallows. I'm almost afraid to read it - afraid of what JkR might do to my favorite Potions Master. But I swear, whatever she does, my vision of Snape will live on forever.


End file.
